


you know it

by verity



Series: tween wolf [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison doesn't actually look like she's ready to kick ass, she looks like a window display in Urban Outfitters. She's kept up with the rest of them, though, and she's the same beneath Lydia's war paint, her scent all gun oil and ash and ozone, like some magic of Stiles's gone especially awry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you know it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts).



> Thanks to Scout and Ashe for helping me unfuck this chapter. They are awesome.
> 
> This is update 1 of 2 for tonight! The regular deluge of updates should resume now. :)

Allison comes back from the vending machine with her hands loose and empty at her sides.

"No Coke?" Scott asks, sitting up from his cross-bench sprawl. Stiles has the ball now, is lining up his second shot at the end of the lane, all narrowed-eye, bitten-lip intensity; he works better when Scott gives him space than when Scott eggs him on. "Were they out? I can ask—"

"No," Allison says. "I'm fine. There wasn't anything I wanted."

—

Jackson's unsurprisingly good at bowling—he's not the co-captain of the lacrosse team for nothing—but Danny hasn't improved since the last time they bowled. "Hey, at least I'm not on your team this time?" he says.

Scott pats him on the shoulder. "It'll be an honorable defeat."

Danny sighs, leans into Scott's hand a little. If Scott liked guys, he'd probably reciprocate—Danny's a cool dude. "Thanks, I guess."

Jackson's coaching Lydia through her shot, although her aim's solid and her arm is steady. "You can do it!" Scott shouts, because that's what Lydia wants to hear; Stiles's annoyed huff is audible to human ears. Scott sits down between him and Allison, kicks his ankle. "Hey, cut it out. Let her have some fun."

"Yeah," Allison says, watching Lydia wind up for another strike. "Give her a break."

"You're all against me," Stiles grumbles.

"Don't talk yourself down." Allison pokes Stiles in the shoulder. "I am in this to win it. Team Martin can eat dirt."

"Oh, really?" Lydia says, returning victorious. She sounds amused; it takes a lot to get that tone out of Lydia. "This is my team now?"

Allison smiles at her, puts her arm behind Stiles on the bench seat. Her posture's loose, relaxed. "You know it."

She smells like magic and fear.

—

Allison doesn't actually look like she's ready to kick ass, she looks like a window display in Urban Outfitters. She's kept up with the rest of them, though, and she's the same beneath Lydia's war paint, her scent all gun oil and ash and ozone, like some magic of Stiles's gone especially awry.

Last year, Stiles tried to make a talisman that would help Scott study faster: it melted a hole in the carpet that Stiles had to move his bed to hide and his room stank for weeks, magic mingling with the usual potpourri of Cheetos and dirty laundry and jizz. Scott's nose has gotten attuned over the years, familiar with Stiles's magic, his successes and more frequent failures. The shadow in Allison's scent is a failed binding; it's unmistakeable.

—

"Hey, Allison," Scott says, after the game comes out narrowly in favor of Team Martin and Danny and Jackson head out. "You want to get a shake with me? I've got my mom's car, I can drop you back at Lydia's."

Behind Allison, Lydia turns away from the shoe rental counter with a raised eyebrow. Scott gives his head a minute shake. Whatever Lydia thinks can wait for now.

"Stiles, too?" Allison asks.

Stiles is edging toward the exit, twitchy and impatient. "I gotta get home," he says. "My dad—and I've got, I'm in the middle of—"

"Next time, dude," Scott says. He holds the door for Allison.

In the car, Allison doesn't meet his eyes, fiddles with the radio on the short drive to the diner where Stiles and his dad always go. "Hey," Scott says after they pull into the parking lot. "You know—no matter what's going on with you, you're safe with me, right? You're safe with us."

Allison's hand stills on the buckle of her seatbelt. "I can take care of myself."

"That's not what I mean," Scott says. "I know—I know there's something wrong, okay? I can smell it. I want to help. Stiles can—he's still learning, but we can go to Deaton, too. Whatever it is, we can fix it."

When Allison lifts her head, Scott can't read her expression; she's backlit by the light of the diner. "It's—I'm dangerous to you," she says. "It wasn't fair to you to come here, but I didn't have anywhere else to go."

It doesn't matter how long Allison's been gone or where she's been; Scott might not be an alpha yet, but he still has a pack. "You did the right thing."

"You don't know what I've done," Allison says.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
